


Savior

by ValentineRevenge



Category: Black Veil Brides
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cutting, Domestic Violence, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Destruction, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRevenge/pseuds/ValentineRevenge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashley dubs his home hell, and is practically alone through it all. Will Andy be his knight in shining armor, or will he just push Ashley over the edge of no return?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The screaming and throwing things hasn't stopped in hours. Even from upstairs I can hear everything smashing. I'll probably have to eat out of pots or paper plates and drink straight from the bottles for a few days, or maybe the next week or two. I'm sick of all this fucking violence. I've been up here for three fucking hours, and scared as fuck, not to mention tired,but I can't sleep here because they might come looking for me.  
  
Last time they got that severely pissed and came up to my room, I had to climb over the broken chunks of furniture for weeks. I think when that shelf fell on me, I broke a rib or two. There's only so much that the aspirin can do for it. But as for now, the silence is driving me nuts.  
  
When they started a few hours before, I killed the lights and my music, even the crappy little filter and light to my fish tank. The less obtrusive I am, the less likely they are to come looking to attack me. If it's all dark and quiet, I'll be less of a target for them.   
  
The setting sun makes everything turn to dark shadows, not like my room gets all that much light even during the brighest part of a summer day/ It must be near 9 P.M. since the sun is out for so long during the summer. Looking out the window, I can see some kids from further down the street riding their little bikes up and down the road. The eldest of them can't be more than 12.  
  
I jump when I feel my phone go off in my pocket. Crouched as I am by the far side of the bed to be as small as possible, it takes me a while to get it out. When I finally did, I saw that I had a message from Andy. I had tected him a week ago, and he hadn't replied.   
  
**Srry 4 no replying, dead battery no charger @ dad**  
  
I half wanted to snort. If the fucker didn't want to talk to me, he should just say it to my face. I knew he was one of those people who couldn't survive without their phone. He would've found a charger. Instead, I slid out the keyboard and replied,   
  
**Its W.e**  
  
He'd said that to me so many times before it wasn't even funny. Whenever he said it to me, I was supposed to accept it. But apparently I couldn't say it back to him, because a minute later, my phone lit up with his angry reply.   
  
**WTF Ash? What the hell is wrong wit u?**  
  
I sighed, feeling the tears prick at the back of my eyes. **Srry im in ww3** The reply was fired off quickly.I didn't need to sit here and be insulted by someone I trusted. It happens enough at home. It was nearly dark now, and downstairs I could hear the argument turn to me, their seemingly favorite topic to curse about.   
  
Yes, I knew I was a failure, I knew I was never what they wanted, hell, I even knew they regretted taking me home from the hospital. The tears I'd felt threathening earlier started to fall, taking my eyeliner with it.   
  
**U ok?** Andy had finally replied. Since when did he care? He was such a jerk and an attention whore sometimes!  
  
 **No** I really wasn't ok. Not by a longshot. A minute later, I found myself on the floor, frantic sobs clawing at my throat, while I fought to hold them in, a hand covering my mouth to muffle the noises. It was completely dark now, and I couldn't see a single thing through my tears. I lay there for a while, just trying to get myself together, until finally, some time later, I managed to stop hyperventilating and sist up.   
  
I realized Andy had sent me another message when I was spazzing out on the floor. In fact, he'd sent several. The oldest was asking if I wanted to talk. The next 5 asking if I was still there. The next 2 asked if I was still alive. Blinking away the tears, I replied, **After they sleep plz?**  
  
I was feeling empty, numb, I needed to fix this. Now. I slid over to my nightstand, opening the top drawer. However, I was interrupted by Andy. **K but u scared me :/**   
  
I smiled slightly, thinking at least he still cared. But then again, the guy was a damn switch, ok one minute, bitchy the next. Glancing at the time on my phone, I saw it was nearly 10 PM and I could still hear cursing and insults directed at me outside.

 

 


	2. 2

Half an hour later, they'd finally shut up and went to sleep. But it was too late. The damage had already been done. My entire left arm was covered in cuts, some of them probably deep enough to need stitches, and I had started in on my hip as well. The shirt I was wearing had blood on most of the sleeve, and my pants and the waistband of my underwear had blood on them too. I'd need a change of clothes, and stitches, but at this point, I didn't give a fuck. I actually wanted these to scar over, to leave a mark and show me that what I'd been through was real. Dare I say it, I actually think I like it.   
  
But I had to clean this up. I stood, relishing the pain in my hip, before grabbing several washcloths from the nightstand, and the first aid kit from below my bed. And yes, I made sure to keep that fucker extremely well stocked, thank you very much.   
  
I took these into the adjoined bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. I set my 'supplies' on the bathroom counter, before peeling off my bloody shirt. My arm was in terrible condition. It'd been scratched up so horribly that I may as well have ripped my skin off. It was covered in blood, and stung like all hell broke loose. I was almost afraid of what I was going to see below the blood. Would I have managed to hit the bone this time?  
  
As I reached for the washcloth, my phone went off, scaring me. I pulled it out of my pocket. It was Andy.   
  
**They asleep yet?**  
  
Taking a breath, I replied.  
  
 **Yea**  
  
Before I could put it away, he had sent back:  
  
 **How long?**  
  
I said   
  
**awhile**  
  
before putting it back into my pants.   
  
Then, I grabbed up the washcloth, pressing it to the open gashes on my arm. I bit my lip, holding back a sound of pain. The towel began to soak through in some places. After a few minutes, I pulled it away from my arm. The cuts were starting to scab over slightly in some places. My phone had going off several times during the process. I ignored it, pouring peroxide over my arm, blotting it off with a fresh washcloth once I heard the blood start bubbling and sizzling.   
  
It looked less painful now that my arm didn't resemble a piece of raw meat quite so much. I decided to let it rest a minute, before I rubbed in the anti-biotic ointment. I knew how to treat cuts all too well. Sad to say, the reason for this is because I've had a lot of practice with this kind of thing, in the form of my trying to heal myself after a night like this one.   
  
So I took the opportunity to slide my phone back out of my pocket. From the looks of the messages, Andy was fucking furious.   
  
Thn y didnt u tell me earlier?  
  
 **Ashley?**  
  
 **Purdy...**  
  
 **WTF r u doin**  
  
 **Ashley -.-**  
  
I sighed. Why did he choose today of all days to be all nice to me, when most of the time, he just ignored me?  
  
 **Hey** I sent. Not a minute later he sent back a message saying **If u did wat I think ur doin Ima kick ur ass**  
  
Wow, that was so fucking helpful. I sent back a message, saying I didn't before tossing my phone into the sink. Then, I started rubbing the ointment into my arm. It stung like hell, but it just served to remind me that suffering was all I deserved.   
  
I pointedly continued to ignore my phone going off in the sink, and by extension, Andy. I opened the first aid kit, and spilled the contents onto the counter. I plucked several butterfly strips out of the mess, ripping open their paper sleeves, before using them to hold the edges of the worst cuts on my wrist closed. I should've gotten stitches, but there was no way they'd give me anything like that without my parents finding out, and that was something I wasn't keen on happening, because Oh, hey look it, I like being free, thanks!  
  
Andy kept spamming me as I laid gauze and toilet paper over my cuts, before covering them with medical tape. By now, Andy was trying to call me. I hung up on him instead, before something prompted me to check my messages. Most of them read some variant of my name. One saidt **Don't do i** , the next said, **PLZ** , then after a minute **:(**  
  
Finally, one read, **If u dnt answer Im callin ambulance**  
  
Holy shit, this wasn't good.   
  
I called him back the moment I read that. He picked up on the first ring. "You didn't call an ambulance, did you?" was the first thing out of my mouth, not even hello, I was that worked up over this. "Do I _have_ to call one?" He asked me. The tone in his voice said he wouldn't hesitate to call one this instant.   
  
"No!" I said, probably too fast. "You didn't do anything, did you?" He asked. I knew that depending on what I said, this could go one of two ways. I don't think saying yes would be too conducive to my health, so I said "No."  
  
"You sure?" He gave me a last chance to tell the truth. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn't believe me. "Andy..." I practically whined. He sighed, before saying, "How bad is it?"  
  
"I t-told you, I didn't do anything." I squeaked, falling over my own words. I didn't want him finding out about this, considering the fact that he had ignored me for a few months well after the last incident like this, and me and him were only now just barely speaking again.   
  
"Keep lying to me, and you know what I'll do." He said warningly, before adding, "Ashley Purdy, if you don't tell me the fucking truth this instant, I swear that I'll do everything I did last time, and worse."  
  
Last time, he took all my blades, and my booze, and didn't talk to me for a few months, wouldn't even look at me at school. While the first two of those pissed me off, the last two hurt even more. Yeah, I'm a fucking attention whore, who hates feeling invisible all the time, deal with it. And by worse, he meant that he would drag me to a psych ward, checked me in, and made sure I took the damned pills. I was terrified of those places, and wasn't keen on going back any time soon, so this terrified the shit out of me.   
  
Even though I saw him for the asshole that he was, I still got an odd contact high from him. It was damn near scary.   
  
"Ashley." He said, bringing me out of my thoughts. "I'm sorry!" Was all I managed, before I broke down, sobbing hysterically.   
  
"I'll be there, 15 minutes tops. Don't do anything til then." He said. Then, the line went dead. The only way that he was going to make it here in 15 minutes was if he ran like his very life depended on it. The thing was, I don't think that I ever meant that much to him.


	3. 3

I lay in the bathroom, not caring enough to do anything about to still bleeding cuts on my hip. It could've been 5 minutes, or 5 years that passed since I hung up on Andy, and I couldn't tell you which. But that didn't matter to me in the slightest.  
  
Soon enough, I heard footsteps outside the bathroom door. I took in a deep breath, in case it was someone I didn't want to see, even though I couldn't guess how they'd gotten into my room, the door being locked and all. The bathroom door creaked opened, revealing one person I wanted to see, but also couldn't stand. Andy.  
  
"What the hell, Ashley?" He snapped, shutting and locking the door. I gulped. This already wasn't a very pretty situation. "Andy..." I mumbled.  
  
"What?" He snarled at me.  
  
"How'd ya get in?" I asked, my words sloshing together slightly, as if I'd had a couple drinks.  
  
"I fucking climbed through the window. How much did you drink?"  
  
"Nothin." I mumbled, my mind somewhat fogged over, like if I hadn't slept, or at all, even.  
  
"Then what the fuck did you take?" He practically growled at me. "Nothing." I whispered. My eyes didn't seem to want to stay open. The next thing I knew, Andy was pretty much sitting on me, one of his bony knees digging into my sliced hip. I hissed in pain, saying, "Get off!"  
  
"No."  
  
I tried to shove him off, only to get slapped sharply across the face. "The fuck?" I asked.  
  
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his icy eyes, before saying, "Ashley Purdy, you're going to tell me exactly what you did."  
  
"I didn't do anything." I said, only to be slapped roughly again.  
  
"If you claim you didn't do anything, then why the fuck am I here?"  
  
"All I did was cut... I swear!" I whispered, a tear leaking out of the corner of one of my eyes. God, I hated looking so weak, especially in front of Andy.  
  
"Let me see."  
  
"But I already took care of it."  
  
His hand cracked against my skin yet again, before he said, "I told you to show me."  
  
I held up my shaking arm, wrapped in bandages, and my other hand scrabbled helplessly, trying to rip off the dressings. However, I was unable to. The weakness resulting from blood loss is a real bitch, just like karma.  
  
The skinny creature in the room with me sighed impatiently, smacking my hand away. "Fucking weak." I could hear him mutter as he tore the bandages off. I could see that most of my cuts were still bleeding below the gauze, in spite of the butterfly strips.  
  
"You called this taken care of? Were you trying to bleed out? Or are you just too fucking stupid to understand you need to stop the bleeding before you wrap it up?" He snapped at me, angry at me even though I'd done the best that I could.  
  
In response, I let out a slight hiccup, and mumbled, "'m sorry."  
  
"Yeah, you'll be fucking sorry when you bleed out."  
  
"I'm sorry." was all that I could manage. The fog was growing thicker by the minute.  
  
Andy sighed, and rolled his eyes. "All you do is fucking apologize. You shouldn't have done this shit in the first place."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Then why the fuck did you do it?"  
  
"Because... I live in hell..."  
  
"And mine is that much better?" He practically yelled, forgetting that he was in a house of sleeping people.  
  
"Never said that."  
  
"Whatever." He huffed, before going to retrieve a washcloth, only to find all the ones in the bathroom were soaked in blood.  
  
"Nightstand, top drawer." I mutter, drifting in and out of consciousness.  
  
"Nobody fucking asked you." He snapped, but going and getting a stack of the thing anyways. Asshole.  
  
I was mostly out of it when he returned, sitting in front of me. "Wake up!" He yelled, slapping my face again. I jerked out of my stupor, before saying, "It's not like I'm going to die."  
  
"I don't give a fuck." Andy spat. God, how I hated the smug, skinny body right now. He moved so he was damn near sitting on me again, his knee jabbing into my injured hip. I tried to pull away, fully aware now, but he held me down. "If this is the only way to keep you awake..." He said, not finishing his sentence, but it was all to clear to me what he meant by that.  
  
I just let out a whimper. I didn't like how any of this was going. I shoulda replied sooner, then this wouldn't be happening. Then, Andy's hand was pressing a clean rag against my arm. I let out a slight whine of pain. It hurt more after the 'high' of cutting was over. "Shut up." Andy hissed.  
  
Ever word out of his mouth made me feel worse.  
  
The amount of pressure he was applying to my arm was making it go numb, but I refused to say anything. I refused to keep looking so weak in fron of him, of all people. Soon enough, he removed the cloth, and the several others he had to layer on top of it. "You need stitches." He said.  
  
"But I-"  
  
"Those fucking little butterfly strips can't help you." He interrupted me.  
  
The thing was, it wasn't a butterfly strip that I was going to suggest. It was ice. The last time I'd had to get stitches, while they'd had a numbing spray right fucking there, they didn't use it. And the doctor was none too gentle about putting in the stitches either. He'd pulled and tugged unnecessarily, and even ridiculed me about being in pain over needing the stitches. And all that happened at a children's hospital, FYI. And yes, I was still a little shaken over it, and fucking wary of anyone coming near my skin with a needle and thread.  
  
Andy dropped his backpack to the floor. I didn't even notice he had it with him. He dumped out the contents. SO many medicals supplies. Looks like he had just dumped the entire first aid kit at his house into his bag. His hands made a beeline to the rubbing alcohol, and the cotton pads. I gulped loudly.  
  
Before opening the rubbing alcohol, Andy turned to me, and said, "You're probably going to scream."  
  
I didn't reply to it. He took off his scarf, tying it around my head, effectively gagging me. "Now just relax, and it'll be all over soon." He said, pecking me on the forehead, before shoving me so I was laying down. Then, he opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol, soaking a cotton pad in the clear substance. This was going to be painful.


End file.
